University of Virginia Library

THE Rattle-Snake,

OR, A BASTONADO FOR A WHIGG.

For which of all our gross enormous Crimes
Bane of our Isle, and Nusance of our Times;
Art thou permitted (By-blow thing) to Write?
And Vent thy Hellish Malice, Rage and Spite?
And still Abuse to thy Seditous Ends,
The Measures of the Queen and Her best Friends;
Dar'st thou pretend to Prop that Ruin'd Cause,
Which Providence it self do's now oppose?
Thy Insolence to such a Pitch is Grown,
That none can match thee, save the Dutch alone;
Who Saucely pretend to dictate here,
As if we were the Pupils of Myn-Heer;
Who now are Smok'd, & must conform to Peace,
Tho' still they Higgle on and Hang an Ars;
Their Bug-Bear-Fears of Popery and France,
Which they to carry on the War Advance:
Their Barriers and Guarrantees, Plague Rott 'em,
Are nothing but Self-Interest at Bottom.
But 'twixt such Friends, no matter who partakes,
If one do's Play, so t'other sweeps the Stakes:
A very equal Lay, You may suppose
'Tis only Cross I Win, and Pile You Loose;
Yet why 've they our Game with France araign'd;
Oh! 'tis because they were not first in Hand.
'Tis pretty plain had they been in our Place,
They'd play'd our Game with not so good a Grace;
But by the Conduct of our Gracious QUEEN,
Sure Means are us'd, tho' not by them foreseen
That Truckle now they must, or go to Pot,
So Welcome Hogens, whether you will or not;
But since they now Submit, and we agree,
Then Rid---th what the Devil comes of thee;
With all thy Whigish-bombast, stuff't with Lies,
Thy Shams, thy Gasconades and Forgeries;
Which to promote, thou hast thy Genius bent,
Set on by Hell, of which thy Brain's the Mint;
Where Falshood still maintains an Open-shop,
To keep the Gainful Trade of Lying up;
But what Reward must thou Receive for this,
From old Black-dad, why thou must have a Kiss;
A pretty little Chuck beneath the Chin,
From thy Fair Mother, Lady Proserpine:
But first thy Neck, and Fame by justest Fate,
Must pay a Forfeit to our Injur'd STATE;
How well the Pill'ry will that Phiz become,
Where many a Sniviling-whigg with Ha & Hum;
And Pulpit-Mountebank with Grumbling-drone,
Shall there Salute thee on thy Wooden-Throne;
Whilst thou with Staunch-grimace and Pious-leer,
Dost like a Traytor Paramont Appear;
Bedaub'd with Smut of Mob, with Dirt cast ore,
And Pelted so as never Rogue before;
Where for each line thou writ'st against the State,
An Addle-Egg, Salutes thy Addle-Pate;
With wch Besmear'd, & Drench'd ore Head & Ears,
Thou all with Patience of a Stoick bares;
For since thy Neck's well Fixt in Wooden-noose,
'Tis Six to Four, if thou avoid the Blows;
The Whigish Pimps, and Pandors of the Town,
Their Patentees and Bullies of Renown;
Their Female-whiglings, who, their Honors Pawn,
By whose soft Charms Unthinking Fops are drawn;
To Vote our Happy Constitution down,
Less Aw'd by Heav'ns, than by Dorinda's Frown;
These finish'd Rakes: mark'd out for Reprobates,
Shall mourn this branded Rogue & curse their Fates;
Because they know that Rid---th's justest Doom,
Is but the Prologue, of their own to come.
The Charming Songs we in thy Papers see,
Proclaim thy Muses Noble Pedigree;
For sure that Damn'd notorious Foul-mouth'd Bitch,
Was got between a Devil and a Witch;
Who thus bespakes thee, in the Doric Tone,
Hell prosper thee, and Bless thee now my Son;
May'st thou still Faction and Sedition Love,
And like thy Sire, in Villany Improve;
May'st thou ne'r flag, nor qualms of Conscience feel,
But fixt and constant to thy Principle;
I'll now Inspire thee, with Harmonious things,
And lofty Verse whose Feet shall tread on Kings;
Fit to be Chanted at the Calves-Head-Feast
Where thou shalt make a Figure with the best;
Riot in Villany, be Bold and Pert,
Brandish thy Fork, and all thy Whigg Exert,
And stick it Home as at the Traytors Heart:
Then fill your Tallest Rummers, foaming Proud,
And with a Gusto Swill the Traytors-Blood;
This said, the Scornful Malicious Punk,
A Bumper of Strong Gall to Rid---th Drunk;
This Promps said she, my pretty Mr. Bays,
To void His Excrements Two different ways
For when it runs into His Guts he Sh---ts,
And when it Flows into His Brains He Writes:
How could'st thou else thou Hackney-whig-machin,
'Traduce the Pious Father of the QUEEN?
Are Governments then nothing but a Name?
Or, are our Governours become so Tame?
That such Plebian Scoundrel things as Thou
Unpunish'd dare Araign what Princes do:
But if in Point of Government He Fail'd,
Thou might'st against His Councellors have Rail'd
Since 'tis a Maxim in our Church and State;
That Kings can do no Wrong; pray answer that,
But Reasons here with thee, are much as Vain
As with the Devil to turn Saint again:
For Minds like thine, so Steel'd with Impudence,
Are proof against the Rules of common Sense;
On such like Natures nothing can prevail,
Till they have felt the utmost Blows of Hell;
But, if in Hell thou glow'st with equal Fire,
As thou hast serv'd it's Emissaries here;
'Twill puzzle even Old-Nick, to pay thee Home,
And he thro' Hell for Keenest-Flames must Roam;
Yet thou hast Anna's Brightest Honor touch'd,
And 'gainst our Queen, such lying Scandals broach'd;
Scandals, for which, thy Life must be the Prize,
Tho' far too mean, and base a Sacrifice,
Since Thousands of such abject lives in One,
Can never for such Villany attone;
How curst art thou, who hat'st whom all Men love,
Whose spotless Conduct Heaven do's so approve:
That as this Globe compar'd to 'th Universe.
Is but a shrivel'd Point, or, some-what less;
So all the Triumphs of Her Ancestors,
Dwindle to nothing, when compar'd to Her's.
Such mighty Success on Her Arms do's wait,
As if She were the Arbitress of Fate;
But when She would with high Religious-Care;
Release Her Britains from the Toils of War;
Then with the deepest Council and Address,
The storms Hells strong Blockades against the Peace:
Whose equal Scales, she holds in her bright Hands,
And highst Powers on Earth submit to Her Commands;
Yet hast thou treated this Illustrious QUEEN,
As if some Slave or Scoundrel She had been:
How Impudently do'st thou Her Upbraid,
With Scandalous-Tales of little Presents made;
By which She is Byass'd to betray the STATE,
And Right and Property to Violate;
She's Timerous, Easy, Superstitious too,
And Favours the Pretender's Int'rest so;
That none can on Her Promises depend,
But He that to the Chevalier's a Friend.
These Shining Qualities, this Rogue here gives,
To our Bright Queen, yet still the Dastar'd Lives;
Forbid it Heaven, but let the Traytor Smart,
With Plagues at which, even Hell it self may start;
For this, may'st thou thro' all the World be driven,
And equally abhord by Men and Heaven;
Thou who such Treacherous Scandal durst Abett,
Be Cains-Brand upon thy Forhead sett;
May'st thou thro' all Lifes wildest Mazes tread,
Forlorn, Abandon'd, destitute of Aid,
Till thou at last be Circumcis'd for Bread.
Be thou than with that Curst Boulimia Seiz'd,
And thy Voratious-Maw be ne'r Suffic'd;
Till thou for Madness swallow thine own Dung,
Then last mayst thou in Red-hot-chains be Hung,
And Vulters gnaw thy damn'd opprobrious Tongue;
How much are Men misled and how unwise,
When they'r Inslav'd by Thoughtless prejudice.
What Notions first they catch they still Believe,
Wherewith themselves and others they Deceive:
They still Believe yet ask no Reason why
But still in Mist of Ignorance they lye
By Custom, Men are Bully'd into Sin
And Int'rest 'bove all, still Hooks them
These mighty three, are Hells & Rid---th's Friends,
And frequently with most obtain their ends
But these with Whiggs continually do Sway
As Dire Experience shews us every Day.
Hence 'tis that Rid---th Writes what he thinks fit,
And Whiggs for Conscience-Sake do still Submit,
But what's a Whigish-Conscience here d'ye think?
To hear a Purse of Powerful Guineas Chink
For this let Papist, Jews, or Turks prevail.
A Whigish-Conscience Tall'yo to 'em all.
But as for Rid---th whose Profession 'tis,
To Hunt for Scandal, and our Feuds Increase;
Until a good and wholesom Law be made,
That Mr. Flying-Post shall loose His Head;
The State shou'd make him find sufficient Bail,
To Hang a Bell, or Rundlet at His Tail,
That of His Poysonous-Converse, none partake,
But each avoid Him, like a Rattle-Snake.
Avoid him all you Honest-Men, who wou'd,
Fall in with Peace, or love your Countries good.
And all, who would not run the Fatal-Risque
Of Treason, Fly Him, like a Basilisk;
Under His Tongue the Rankest-Poison dwells,
His Breath is Catching, and at distance Kills.
Ye Grocers, and ye Pastry-Cooks, take Care,
How you with Flying-Posts, do up your Ware:
Such subtil Venom, in those Papers lye,
They'l Taint ye every Plumb, and every Pye.
For me, I'd Fear, least every Whiff might Choak,
Should I with these, but light my Pipe to Smoak.
Pardon me [Muse] that I so of't Rehearse,
Rid---th, this Damn'd Ill-Sounding-Name in Verse;
'Tis Stubborn, Rugged, like the Owners Mind,
And never for the Muses-Use design'd.
Now Rid**th, was not thou an Arrant Tool,
Thus far to Venture, both thy Neck, and Soul,
Where all thy Purchase is not worth a Groat,
When thou must leave it at the Gallows Foot,
Besides the Fiends will Seize the in the Event.
For I'm afraid thou scarcely wilt Repent.
Such harden'd Wretches never can Obey,
They'r Obstinate, and out of Mercy's Way;
So nought but dire Remorse to thee Remains,
When thou art Hung in Monumental Chains,
Where Ghosts attend thee with their dismal Groans,
And Winds come Whistling thro thy Scarcrow-bones.
Thy hated Memory shall Stink and Rot,
And all thy Hell-born Scandal be forgot.
None of the Nine, shall Sing thy Blasted Fame.
But Night-birds Screetch, & Ravens Croak thy Name.

Enter'd According to the Act of Parliament.